How Lonely the Earth
by Magic Door
Summary: Will is missing, and Alice is dying. Her wish is to see her sons together before she dies. Paul, Simon and Barney check out their last possible clue… a W. Stanton in Trewissick, Cornwall. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**How Lonely The Earth**

**Summary: **Will is missing, and Alice is dying. Her wish is to see her sons together before she dies. Paul, Simon and Barney check out their last possible clue… a W. Stanton in Trewissick, Cornwall.

**Disclaimer:** The Dark is Rising sequence does not belong to me at all. Sob.

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There's a certain stubbornness that the dying possess, when they know their life has a definite end and that end is coming upon them sooner than they would hope.

Alice Stanton possessed that hardheaded stubbornness; persistently driving after her one dream to see all her children reunited before she died. She knew when her life would come upon its end, and it was now only how the dance played out rather than how the dance would end.

It was a dream that wouldn't have been hard to bring into being forty years ago, when all of the children (apart from Tom, she reminded herself at sharp dizzying intervals) were living more or less at home. The one obstacle would have been Stephen, who spent most of his time in foreign climates of Royal Navy ships, and even that obstacle was not a relatively large one.

The obstacle currently destroying her dream was the one obstacle none of them had imagined could even _be _a problem forty years ago. Even thirty-five years ago, if someone had come up with the ludicrous idea that the current situation would be as it was, they would have been laughed at and declared an idiot.

Paul shifted, irritated, and rubbed the back of his neck lethargically. He'd tried reasoning with his mother as she lay there, looking finally so frail and weakened in her hospital bed, trying to make her understand that maybe Will was never coming back; but she'd displayed that brash streak of stubbornness that Paul was beginning to resent.

_Will is coming back, Paul._

He could hear her soft voice, resonant and believing, even now, a mournful echo in his mind. He wished he could believe her.

Eventually he rose to his feet, wearier than he used to think was possible, and padded out of the room; assured that the soft and shallow rhythm of her breathing meant she was asleep at last. Her sleep was so restless at the moment, punctuated by breathy mentions of Will, her lost son, and it broke Paul's heart.

They took it in turns to rest by her bedside. The large Chiltern hospital provided well for the terminal cases, and the doctors relented and let the Stantons keep up their constant watch over their dearest, oldest member. Roger took most of the watches, grasping his wife's frail hand and struggling so hard to keep from crying. The children - the term children laughable, as they were now grandparents themselves in a few cases - made him rest every once in a while, and took up the watch, while the others resumed the search for Will.

Paul emerged into the dingy hospital corridor, the walls a smudged white that somehow seemed as dull as any shade of grey, and just as dismal. His fatigued gaze met with his father's, and Roger Stanton, a grey skeleton weighed down by an impossible grief, almost a wraith himself with his eighty-two years. Paul managed a weak smile, and patted his father's shoulder tentatively as the other shuffled past him into the room. He crossed to where Mary, his youngest sister, sat curled up on the bland plastic chairs arranged against the wall, and sat down next to her. His youngest sister, no longer young at fifty-two, hadn't left the hospital since their mother was admitted. Mary's husband, a teacher by trade and an artist at heart, had rallied around to keep the house running and the search for Will continuing.

"As soon as she's gone, he's gone too," Mary breathed, her voice almost lost in the fierce silence.

Paul nodded, mutely, knowing that fact, seeing it ingrained into his father's face so deeply that it was an unambiguous event.

"D'you --" Mary's face was hidden in shadow as she tried to pull into herself even more. "D'you think we'll ever find Will? Or even find out why he -- why he --"

The words were left unspoken, but the truth hung adamantly in the unspoken words, of finding Will's rooms empty, of finding nothing - no note, no trace - apart from two words scribbled in a blur on a scrap of paper and left on the table.

Paul had been the one to find it as he'd stumbled downstairs on his twentieth birthday to find Will gone and the two words in biro the only thing left to show Will had even been there.

_I'm sorry._

"D'you --" Mary stuttered again, her eyes shrunken into her face, dark and confused and scared.

"Yes."

Paul imagined that the same jolted look of surprise that was on his sister's face was mirrored on his own. He closed his eyes, then opened them to fix vaguely on a spluttering light on the ceiling. He hurried to elaborate on his point. "I… Will's different to us. He… he'll know… he'll _feel_ this… He won't stay away…"

"He's stayed away for this long…"

_True_. Paul looked away, clenching his fists helplessly. "I --" He reached out, impulsively, bones aching from a life full of hard labour and intermixed with moments of rapture, of music that soared to the heavens and back again, to grab hold of her hands. Mary looked at him, dark eyes widened with shock and she seemed so fragile to Paul in that moment. He swallowed, gripping her hands tightly, trying to forget that her hands were wrinkled with her age, that her hair wasn't shimmering with the same silvery colour as all of the Stantons now. That Will's hair would display too. Will with his boyish round face, with the chin that jutted out determinedly, with the blue-grey coloured eyes that reflected the sky, now with the faded silver of advancing old age... Will's innocence, blighted by the mould of age… Paul could hardly bring himself to believe it. He didn't want to believe it. "I don't think he wanted to."

"I get that feeling too…" Mary moved her other hand to clasp her brother's hand. "Something happened to him… A while ago… Something he couldn't tell us… It… It's the only reason that, that --"

She didn't have to say anything. Both knew the ending to those words. Neither could believe that Will would voluntarily distance himself from them forever. It was just too painful to believe.

"I -- I'm going to go see if Barney's back from work yet…" Paul staggered to his feet, his body feeling weary and heavy, and he flashed a weak smile at her. "Keep your head up, young person."

Mary couldn't respond, her eyelids dropped in sleep, and Paul spent an anxious moment staring at his weary sister before turning on his heel and padding down the muffled corridor.

Barney was there when he exited the hospital and felt the rush of cool air on his face. Paul walked slowly over to where Barney was leaning casually against the wall, and looked at him slowly. The blond, light hair streaked with white that made it almost look as if it had been deliberately dyed, reached out and grasped his lover's shoulder firmly with one hand and just smiled.

Paul looked up sleepily, recognising the impish expression on Barney's face and he found himself desperately try not to believe it that Barney may have a lead as to where Will was. Too many times he'd let himself be incensed by false hopes, and he didn't know if his heart could stand another let down.

Barney was speaking now, quietly, and Paul gamely tried to listen above the sound of his own heart, thudding painfully in his ears like a ragged syncopated drum beat.

"…I had a call from Mrs. Penhallow this afternoon, in the middle of my gallery opening… The old Grey House down in Trewissick, it was a place I went to summer once, anyway… It was bought years ago by a W. Stanton…"

"W? You don't know if it's Will?"

"Well, that's the thing, you see, I don't know if it can be. He fits the description of Will, apparently, all apart from one thing…"

"Which is?"

"His age." Barney sounded apologetic, and Paul almost felt the urge to yell at him, that he had no need to be sorry. Will had a need to be sorry, but not Barney. Barney wasn't the one that abandoned his whole family for a lifetime.

"Huh?"

"Mrs. Penhallow said he looked like he was in his early twenties," Barney clarified. "I wouldn't normally have really paid much attention after that, but -- Well, that might be the right age for, you know, if Will ever --"

"If Will ever had a kid, you mean?" The words sounded strange in Paul's throat, and despite the fact that several of his siblings had quite large families of their own, it was a weird and bitter picture in his mind that Will might have actually got on with his life after deserting them all.

Barney nodded mutely, knowing how much the idea of it was paining Paul. "Simon offered to drive us down. Shouldn't take more than an hour and a half's drive, and Mrs. P offered to put us up for the night if we needed it. I know it's a bit of a long shot…"

"But it's possibly one of the last shots we have," Paul finished, the words sounding hollow to his ears as if it was someone else speaking and not him.

Barney swallowed hard, and stepped forwards, slipping a reassuring hand around Paul's waist and leading his lover to the car park.

-----

"We're almost there."

_That's the problem of being surrounded by mourning people, no-one ever knows how to react around you…_ Paul jerked his head up from where it had rested on the window, the motion of the car jerking his head as they rattled on down the motorway and roads and multiple country lanes to get to Trewissick.

"Great," Barney said, after a muted flickering look at Paul. "Thanks Si."

"No problem," Simon said, his eyes fixed on the twisting curves of the road ahead of them. Paul caught a flicker of tension in Simon's voice, and a sharp memory jolted his consciousness. Hadn't Barney mentioned that Simon had a conference this weekend?

Raising his gaze wearily upwards, he caught a echo of a glance in the car mirror, Simon and Barney in the front seats, and smiled softly. Barney, his Barney… He lingered over the words. He'd met Barney in a Performing Arts conference in Surrey, he'd been teaching music for eight years by that time, and he'd bumped into Barney who'd been lecturing at the college Max had used to go to. One thing had led to another, and Barney moved to Buckinghamshire, not having left since. The artist and the musician…

Stifling the snort that threatened to come with that thought every time, Paul kept his gaze fixed on the blur of scenery that flashed past.

He remembered the last time he'd seen Will. The present Will had given him, a beautiful horn, aged, something which struck something deep within Paul as should have been meaningful, but it was just beyond his memory's grasp. Will had said that the present was special, it couldn't be given with all the others the next day, because it would be lost. A present like that should shine.

Will had smiled at him, and, _oh_, Paul should have picked up something then. The smile was one of discordant sadness, of longing, of regret. Of goodbye. "See you tomorrow," Paul had said, grinning. "Old you'll be, tomorrow," Will had replied.

It had taken him a long time to realise that Will had not really replied to him. At first he'd been angry, possibly angrier than all the rest, thinking Will had been promising that he _would_ see Paul today, but when he thought back carefully, Will hadn't said anything of the sort.

It had been premeditated.

_And there you are thinking of it as murder,_ Paul chided himself. _You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you really-_

"We're nearly there." Barney's voice was soft with excitement. Straightening, Paul glanced up, seeing the narrower roadways, the more exotic trees lining some of the streets, a hazy glimpse of sunshine and the sea.

"I- Did I fall asleep?" Paul didn't think he had, but he could have _sworn_ they'd just started out…

"You looked a little daydreamy," Barney replied. Paul twisted his head to the left and looked at his lover's reflection in the left-hand mirror. Barney looked a little sleepy, too. He hedged a look at Simon, who looked alert but blank.

"Guess I was reminiscing a little," Paul said. "Just remembering the last time I saw Will."

"Oh?"

"Day before my birthday," Paul said to Simon's polite enquiry, trying not to sound too depressed.

"Last time I saw him was on a hill," Simon said, keeping his eyes on the road as it started to twist and turn. Paul looked up in surprise. "On a hill in Wales, and we were saying goodbye to him and that albino chap."

"_Bran_," Barney hissed, chiding Simon's prejudiced tone. "Bran Davies. Why, yes, I'd almost forgotten about that day." Paul leant to one side, looking at Barney's expression through shuttered eyes. Barney's face was unusually animated. For Barney, that was saying something. His eyes shone brightly despite his his pale, wizened cheeks. "We'd had a super holiday in Wales, Gumerry told dad about this great hotel, and we spent a couple of days trekking in the mountains with Bran and Will."

Paul struggled to listen to something inside of him that was tingling, almost like he was close to solving a puzzle but not quite there yet. "Will and this-Bran… They were close?"

"I'd say so," Simon said. "Your Will was often laconic with us, but he seemed to relax more with Bran."

"He became more like that, towards-" Paul fought for the right word, couldn't find it, and fell silent instead. "Said less and less. Thought more and more."

"Well, it would be worrying if he thought less and said less," Barney said, sounding quite chipper. He'd wound the window on his side down a bit, and the wind was whipping through his white-golden hair. It was like the whole atmosphere was waking him up.

"It sounds more like that would explain things," Simon said, "if you thought less, then you'd have less to say and then would say less, wouldn't you?"

And the debate was off, the two siblings arguing cheerfully, and Paul collapsed inwards with his thoughts again, and must have remained lodged there, for the next thing he remembered was a jolt, and then Barney chirping that they were there.

"Did you fall asleep?" Barney asked, and reached out a hand to ruffle Paul's hair. Paul ducked away, clutching at the address in his hand, looking out at the house near the end of the cliff. It was built out from an old lighthouse, which still spiralled up at the top, and there was a light on in one of the lower rooms, a figure moving around.

"Will," Paul said, even though he didn't know if the figure was or not. He had resolved not to get his hopes up, but these were his last hopes. If this wasn't Will…

"Go," Barney urged, hanging back with Simon, and Paul threw one desperate look at the brothers, before steeling his face. He had to do this. There was no other option. It was what his mother wanted, her final, dying- _oh god, dying_ – wish, and he would complete it, come hell or high water.

With bravado on his face that he did not feel, Paul walked over the front door and gave it two brisk raps. He warned himself it would not be Will, _it would not be Will_, and had so thoroughly convinced himself of that, when the door opened and Will blinked out at him.

At least, that's what Paul thought. The round face, the green and blue eyes, the curtain of brown hair slanting over his forehead… It was Will. But Mrs. Penhallow was right – it was a Will that had not aged a second. For a long moment, Paul entertained the crazy notion that this _was_ Will, somehow caught in time, unable to age, an eternal Peter Pan… but the notion was too crazy, and this boy who was not Will was staring at him, with a strange compassion on his face.

"Can I help?" the boy asked. Paul stared for a second longer, finding it hard not to think of the boy as his brother. He shook his head briefly to clear it.

"Sorry about that," Paul said, as warmly as he could manage. "My name's Paul Stanton. I-" He looked briefly back over his shoulder, and almost fell back in surprise when he realised how close Barney had crept to stand beside him. Barney flittered a smile at him, and Paul turned back to the boy who looked so much like his younger brother. "I think I knew your father."

The boy tilted his head. "_Paul_ Stanton," the boy said, as if rolling the name around his mouth. "The musician?" Paul blinked, startled. "My father spoke much of you," the boy said, stepping back a little.

"So you are Will Stanton's son?" Barney asked, his hand warm, flush against Paul's hip.

"Uh, yes, yes," the boy said, holding out his hand. Barney reached past Paul and shook it firmly, his hand grasping hold of cloth. The boy's sleeves were long and fell over most of the boy's hand. "I'm Joe Stanton. Will Stanton was my father."

"Was?" Paul blurted out the question, shaking, hating the way the boy – Joe – said it, a rush of dread washing over him, like warm water. He wasn't aware he'd lost the strength to stand up until he felt Barney's arms around him.

"Yes, was," Joe said, shifting uncomfortably. "I- I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but…" Joe paused, heavily. "Will's dead."

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

**How Lonely The Earth

* * *

**

**Summary: **Will is missing, and Alice is dying. Her wish is to see her sons together before she dies. Paul, Simon and Barney check out their last possible clue… a W. Stanton in Trewissick, Cornwall.

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took so long. I had to finish my degree! Yaaarrrrrrgggghhh.

* * *

**Part Two

* * *

**

"Yes, was," Will said, shifting uncomfortably. "I- I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but…" Will paused, heavily, sunken with the knowledge that he had to speak this lie. "Will's dead."

Old Ones shouldn't really lie, unless they could help it, because their lies polluted the air, made it thick and more likely for some unsuspecting passer-by to inherit the ill feeling, but Will couldn't help it this time.

And just as he'd suspected it would, the lie broke his heart as he watched all colour drain from Paul's face.

The best thing to do, Will knew, was to send them away, send them away _now_. But the broken remains of his heart sang a different tale, soft and ragged in his ears, and he found himself inviting them in before he could force the words out to send them away. Instead, he busied himself with making tea and cutting slices of cake, and despaired of his still too-human heart.

Will waited patiently while Paul introduced Barney and Simon, and managed to hide his surprise when Paul introduced Barney as his lover by taking a mouthful of the still too-hot tea. Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised – Barney was a Seer, and that much latent magic, that had come into contact with Will's own magic, could have subverted Barney's power a little, caused him to seek out one of Will's bloodline for company, and company often led to love, or so Will had been told.

Will had been alone for a long time, except for twenty years ago, when he'd adopted an old sheepdog, out of a sudden fierce remembrance of another dog, lost too long ago, that had been called Joe. Seeing Paul at the door had caused Will to give himself that name out of desperation. He knew he should have had a better plan, in case of discovery, but Will knew subconsciously he _did_ want his family to know he was still alive, even though his consciousness overruled – they _couldn't_ know he was still alive, because if they knew about magic, they would slowly self-destruct, and he wouldn't be responsible for that. He couldn't be.

"So-" Paul tapped his mug a little, his eyes downcast, obviously fearing if he looked up he would be staring at the 'weird similarity' between 'Will and his son'. Paul had been never been liked to be caught staring. Will remembered with a pang taking the mick out of Paul for that very characteristic, and he fought down the urge to cry. "I know it must be hard for you-"

"-but how and when did it happen?" Will kept his face carefully assembled into a neutral expression. "Last year. He went walking out on the cliffs, stormy night, he never came back. Will, well, he-" Will had a sudden flash of inspiration. "-never really got over the loss of my mother."

It was true. Sort of. Will had met a girl, just a year after leaving his family, and had fallen madly in love with her. In a Freudian mire of Oedipal proportions that Will did not want to get into, her name was Alice, just like his mother's name. She lived in a small town in Cumberland, by a lake, and she sang with a husky tone, and liked bacon and mushroom sandwiches, and she liked to listen to the Beatles when she was happy and Brahms when she was disappointed, and she loved Will. And Will had let himself love her back, for a year, for two years, for nearly three. But one day, she discovered a grey hair, and the next, a tiny wrinkle that was really a laughter line, and she despaired of both so much, and of Will for having neither, not even a receding hairline that one of his age might have, that Will had to leave. And, as he watched her in the form of a hawk for nearly four years, she listened entirely to Brahms, until she met a nice postman. As soon as the first strains of Eleanor Rigby hit Will's enhanced hawk hearing, he flew away, and had never looked back.

He'd Googled her, on a wet and dank afternoon when he almost thought the Dark might be rising again, with the number of war announcements and horrific events staring back at him from the news screens, and he knew she was still alive, and had started up a sandwich shop, with odd-and-normal combinations for the tourists, and she looked happy enough. Had married the postman. And had a baby. A girl. Called Eleanor.

Thankfully Paul mistook Will's look of bitter remembrance for bitter remembrance of another kind. "She-"

"Her name was Alice." Will nodded, and the pain that accompanied the mournful nod was real. "She left us a long time ago." Not exactly lying, but a long distance from the truth.

"My mother- Your grandmother's name is Alice." Paul leant forwards, his old face sad but earnest, and his eyes… Oh, his eyes were just the same, and they broke Will's heart just that little bit more. "And her last wish was for Will, for Will to come back."

Will just looked at Paul, his eyes travelling Paul's face, trying to map the face he once knew onto this face lined with time. "I'm sorry," Will said. A rueful, brief smile flashed across his face, unbidden. "I would bring him back to you if I could."

"Of course you would," Barney said, the words that would sound sarcastic on anyone else sounding genuine and well-meant.

"You look so much like him." Paul was staring off into the distance, and then his own words seemed to startle him, and he blinked owlishly at Will for a second. "I'm sorry, you must get that all the time."

"Not as much as you'd think," Will said, wryly. "The benefit of moving away from one's hometown. Mrs. Penhallow said I looked the spitting image."

Paul nodded. "Mrs. Penhallow is right…" Will's older brother shifted uncomfortably. "Would you—I mean, do you- Would you have the time to come back with us?"

Will looked at him, startled, hating and loving the idea in equal measure, and overall, feeling sick. Paul obviously translated that as indecision and reluctance.

"Please." Paul looked at Will, their eyes locking. "You should meet the rest of your family. And it's going to be too late, soon."

Will stared back, locked in the gaze, lost in another time. "You said…" He swallowed, having trouble with the words. "You said she had a _last_ wish to find Will."

Paul nodded. "She's…" He seemed to choke on the word. "Dying. She hasn't got long. And I- I know you don't know us. I know you've only just met us and it's just our word that we're who we are… But please. Come with us. You're Will's son. And you need to meet your grandmother before she dies and it's too late. We'll put you up overnight, in a hotel, and-"

Will listened to Paul, frozen in place, as Paul babbled on about the family, and how many 'uncles' that 'Joe' had. Since Paul's arrival, all he could think of was that he was hurting. And it was selfish. Of course he'd hurt his family by leaving, he knew he would, but it was a pain less than they would suffer, thinking Will's last relative didn't care.

"Will you come?" Paul asked, mumbling the question, biting his lower lip in the way that Will knew instantly meant Paul was nervous. The familiarity scared him.

Will straightened up, made the painful decision, and answered, "Yes."

* * *

When Will walked through the hospital doors, he hadn't expected what he saw. At first, he thought Paul had accidentally led them onto the geriatrics ward. And then he realised that the group of old people was his family.

"Will?" Stephen's voice was just as Will remembered, harsh and a little breathy but deep and reassuring at the same time, and the contradiction of it almost overwhelmed the ache in his chest of how well he loved and needed to hear that voice some more. "What the-"

"This isn't Will, Steve," Paul said, his voice gentle, the babbling that he'd descended into back in Cornwall now sunk without trace, his composure regained in the car by refusing to look at 'Joe' much. "This is Will's son, Joe."

Stephen stared down at Will. "But the likeness… But where is—"

As Stephen looked down, Will actually saw the light die in his eldest brother's eyes.

"No," Stephen said, quiet. "How?"

Will dully repeated the lie he'd told Paul, and again to each of the startled Stanton siblings, and survived by pretending to be an actor. He was an actor playing Joe, and they weren't his siblings, they were just some old people, and-

"Will?"

Will thought he'd told everyone, but as his father walked through the door, Will remembered he hadn't. There was still his father to fool. With a bravery on his face that he didn't feel, he walked forwards, and grabbed Roger's hand heartily. "Hi, I'm Joe Stanton… Your grandson. I'm so sorry to tell you, but my father… Will… He died last year. In an accident."

"No…" Roger breathed.

"I'm sorry," Will said.

"No, we promised her, we promised her we'd find Will, and if you're not… Oh, you look like him… This is going to break her heart…" Roger was breathless, and Will had to turn away. He met Barney's confused glance, and lowered his gaze to the pristine hospital floor. As he looked up, his father leaned forwards, and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry for-- it's just a shock—One should never outlive one's own child…"

"I understand," Will said. "I-"

But he didn't have time to finish. A nurse came up, and touched Stephen's arm, talking in a low, hushed voice. Stephen, handsome even at his old age, nodded slowly.

He walked over to Will and their father, and explained, in a voice much more calm than Will would have expected, that they had to go and see their mother, for she hadn't much time left.

* * *

Will filed in last, keeping his head down low, but as he entered through the door, he felt his mother's eyes on him before he saw them.

"Will?"

Alice's voice was high, reedy, and her eyes were glazed. Will knew she hadn't long left. Will felt Paul beside him tense, ready to say no, that this wasn't Will… but Will knew what he had to do. Will stayed Paul with one hand, and he shook his head slightly, as he stepped forward, and over to his mother's side.

Her eyes travelled his face, as his siblings surrounded the bed, all holding hands, and looking down at their mother and at Will. Will looked up at his father, on Alice's other side, and gave him a brief nod, before taking his mother's hand.

"Will. How is this possible? You haven't aged a day…" Alice's voice was weak, and her eyes struggled to keep focus.

"When I was very little, you told me a story once, and you never told me it again, because you were scared. Scared I would believe it." Will's voice was soft, low, and serious. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Barney move in through the doorway, his eyes wide and calculating, but he forced his attention onto his mother, and maintaining the wavering smile. "About the Old Ones, of the Great Circle, who could fly on the wind and make fire out of nothing, and who would stop the Dark, stop the Dark from rising, but who had to be alone, had to always be alone."

Alice's eyes opened wider, and her breathing fractionally increased. "No-"

"I'm sorry." Will got to his knees, and leant in closer. "I'm the last of the Old Ones, the Watchman of the Light, and I had to go. I had to leave, so I could do the good in the world I was meant to do. If I had stayed, I wouldn't have grown older, and it would have been too noticeable. I love you, and I didn't want to hurt you, any of you, but if this family had known such magic and such evil walked abroad in our world, it would have fractured us. It would have destroyed us." His fingers closed around his mother's, and he despaired of the frailness of her grasp. "The lives I've saved, mum. I wanted you to know. I've walked this lonely path of light for so long, and I wish I hadn't had to break your heart to walk that path, but I had to. There isn't anyone else but me. There isn't anyone else but me until the end of time. I-- I just… I need you to understand. Please, please forgive that I left you. I always loved you, all of you, but I couldn't be with you. The Light can't soothe the way, not even for one person."

And for the first time since he'd left, Will felt a pressure build behind his eyes, but he kept them down, and he kept his head held high as he looked down at her.

His mother's face cracked into a smile, a proud, warm smile. "Oh… My Will… I would forgive you anything… I love you."

"I love you, too." Will nodded, heavily, and stood up, still holding her hand. His father held her other hand. The circle of Stantons stood, smiling down at her, as she looked around at all of them, smiled, told them she loved them, and then she died.

* * *

They came out of the room, in a single procession, Will leading the procession, trembling. His father came out last, and went straight to Will

"Joe, is it?" Will nodded. "You didn't have to do that." Roger Stanton's voice was low and broken, but somehow held together as he looked down at Will. "But thank god you did."

He drew in, and held Will in close, in a hug that suffocated and renewed all in one moment.

"Welcome to the family," Roger added.

Will pulled back, and nodded wordlessly at his father, a blank smile his proffered thanks. In that moment, he wanted to scream the truth, scream the truth that it was _real_, he was _Will_, not Joe, he was _Will_, and he was just as heartbroken, grieving just the same amount as the rest of them.

When Stephen thumped his shoulder, Will knew what he had to do. He endured the polite welcomes and thank yous from his siblings, pretended that he was someone else to make the pain go away, and when the time was right, he slipped away and out of the ward.

This time he wasn't even going to leave a note, and he pretended to himself that it would hurt all the less because of it.

* * *

It was almost ten minutes, after the doctor had come in and proclaimed Alice Stanton officially dead, that Barney realised Joe was nowhere to be seen. The Stantons were all hugging each other, tears in their eyes but smiles on their faces, and he didn't blame them. Despite the sadness of the occasion, Alice had died exactly in the most perfect way she'd wanted to, and that was something to celebrate.

Barney pushed through the double doors, leading down to a Fire Exit, and saw Joe's brown head disappearing down the flight of stairs. Letting out a bark of surprise, Barney hurried forwards, and caught up with Joe, pulling the startled boy around.

Joe looked at him, wide-eyed and obviously upset, his eyes reddened, his face stark and pale. He really did look like Will…

"What you did for your grandmother," Barney said. "That was amazing. That story was inspired. But you should have got to know her as your grandmother, let her know you were her grandson… The truth would have made her just as happy…"

"The truth…" Joe whispered the word as if it blistered his throat. He shook his head instead, the brown hair slanting over into his blue-green eyes, the ones that really did look so much like Will's…

Barney froze, and then slowly looked into those blue-green eyes, dawning recognition rising in his own. "That was the truth, wasn't it?"

Joe looked at him blankly, aloof. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Joe turned to leave, but Barney staggered forwards, and grabbed his forearm, pulling him around.

"The story was real." Barney's voice strengthened as the truth of his words rang true in his gut. "You are Will."

Joe – Will – flinched in Barney's grasp. His face moved, as if he was going to deny it again, but deep in his blue-green eyes, a door shut quietly. "It broke my heart to leave them the first time. Don't make this second time any harder for me, because if I stay, just a second longer…"

"I don't-" Barney started.

"You're so lucky." Will interrupted. "You're so lucky. Don't you know it?"

"You could be lucky too." Barney gave him his most entreating look. "Paul might not recover if another Stanton leaves. Stay."

Will gave him such a dead look then, that Barney's heart leapt, and he realised it was in empathy for Will. Will, the Old One, who hadn't changed his appearance in twenty years. Will, the watchman of the Light. Will, who had to leave his family and live forever. "Very well, if understanding has evaded you thus far…" Will said, after a second. Will narrowed his eyes, and made a gesture, and suddenly the air leapt into life.

It was a brilliant fire, reds and blues and yellows and oranges, a banquet of colour that Barney had seen once, upon a canvas, deep in a lost memory, even replete with the same off shade of green that leapt at the heart of the flame. It seemed to be alive, and although it scorched along Barney's stubble-covered face, it was cold, a deep cold, like ice.

Barney watched it in muted wonder, and his face held the same awe, even as Will banished the alive flame into nothingness.

"_About the Old Ones, of the Great Circle, who could fly on the wind and _make fire out of nothing_, and who would stop the Dark, stop the Dark from rising, but who had to be alone, had to always be alone."_

Inside the fire, Barney had seen a hint of a memory, a hint of something that had happened that he had forgotten. "We stopped the Dark from Rising," Barney said, and then stopped after saying it, surprised. He had no idea where the words came from, he only knew they were true.

"You see… why things cannot remain the same…" Will's voice was stilted, passionless. He looked up at Barney, sadness etched so deeply into his face that it seemed normal, like it was a regular part of his face. "Please tell Paul I send my deepest regrets that I cannot attend the funeral."

Will held his stare a second longer, and then turned, and left, hurrying down the stairs with a silent grace. Barney stared into the space with the leaping, alive fire, frozen with the intensity of the experience, and oddly also frozen with fear, and he understood. He understood why Will left, that Will was telling the truth… If Paul knew magic existed, he would have loved Will, but it would tear him to pieces, it would tear the family to pieces, Will was right.

Barney wondered at Will's strength. The strength to leave his own family, to save the world… He would not have such strength. But perhaps, perhaps he had enough of his own strength to go back up to the ward, and to lie to his love, the first lie he would have ever spoken to Paul. And for the sake of the family, he would continue to tell the lie. It wasn't as big a stake as Will's decision, but it was big enough for Barney. He nodded, determined, and headed back up the stairs.

When he walked into the nurse's station, Paul was there, standing aside from his other siblings, his face tear-stained. Barney gathered him up, giving him as much warmth and support as he could muster, standing firm, so Paul could collapse. "Where've you been," Paul mumbled into Barney's shoulder.

Over Paul's shoulder, Barney could see a window, and for a moment, he saw a hawk fly up, and into the air, heading resolutely against the wind away from the hospital, and in that moment he knew.

"_About the Old Ones, of the Great Circle, who could _flyon the wind_ and make fire out of nothing, and who would stop the Dark, stop the Dark from rising, but who had to be alone, had to always be alone."_

As the last Old One flew away, alone, Barney held Paul, and knew he was lucky to be home.


End file.
